


Treats

by savaged



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Anal Sex, Dubious Consent, General spoilers, I WONDER WHAT IT IS, Infidelity, M/M, cigars and, giving your ex chemistry professor a birthday gift, set during the 5th season, typical stubborn Walt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:21:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3099731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birthday gifts are always hard to choose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treats

Jesse can't remember birthdays like he can't remember the date he made his own wooden box. He has a vague memory of being in high school and getting half wasted once he was done with it, and he wouldn't care less about it being a sunday or friday morning while skipping classes. He knows the day's important, though, that it holds significance because it changed something about him and the way he did things. Still, he blatantly ignores the seemingly relevant date and does the same with his own birthdays. That's another whole story when it comes to Mr. White, though.

It's a kind of odd comparison he doesn't linger on for long; instead, he drops by the nearest old jewelry shop in town after work-shift is over and buys Mr. White the most expensive wrist watch, a fine gift, and the manliest one the cashier -who's also owner of the store- has to offer.

He runs his fingers through it, inspecting the polish during a traffic red light. The black box has round edges, no brands and the surface's slightly worn out, giving it that antique style that he trusts Mr. White to dig, proper of old men and such. Not like he considers him an old man, at all. But he respects them, so it's technically the same.

The packaging brings a hollow part under the plastic tube where the watch is supposed to be wrapped around, and he bites at his lower lip considering the space. He leaves the squared wrapping he's kept in his pocket since that same morning in it, and checks twice that it shows without having to look too hard for it. A car beeps. Jesse closes the gift box quickly, tosses it around and speeds the car to stop in the next turn, glaring at the driver behind him through the rearview.

"It wasn't green yet," he speaks, to no one in particular but the image of a raging idiot on the mirror, "asshole."

 

He stops to pick a six pack of Corona's to replace them later by a bottle of wine and liquor-filled bonbons, then follows a lady in louboutins through the convenience store until she takes some Cohiba Lanceros from the upper shelves at the end of the place. The round security guard misses Jesse dangling from the discount announce letter that hangs from the ceiling, waistband of his jeans low, displaying two dimples, shoes kicking in the air while his hand takes grip of one stinky pack of cigars. One of the wires holding the discount letter gives up with Jesse's weight and snaps, and the boy hits the shelf with his side, loses balance, falls, hits his head with the metallic ledge, and protects the box of expensive cigars shoving it under his arm pit. Which is, under the eyes of the guard, _stealing attempt_.

Half an hour later Jesse walks out of the store with a bruise on his face and the fresh memory of a mugshot that the store will keep on the door from now on, adverting him to not even think about coming inside again.

 

It takes him fifteen minutes to properly enter the White's residence. He stands all stiffened and scolding at the front of this yard because it has never been a good idea to even call to Mr. White's place, to begin with, and because he's waiting for some light to turn on inside and eventually Mr. White himself coming out to tell Jesse to go the fuck away.

He's somehow surprised to find the man's warm smile widen easily when he sees him standing by the door, knuckles clenched by his side and the other hand gripping tight the paper bag with the recently acquired items, because Mr. White smells like rum and the after-shave fragrance that he uses that is so vague once he gets to the lab. Jesse reminds all those times he was thankful of being able to get both their orange suits off. This fragrance smells stronger when close and just worn.

"Hey, Mr. White" Jesse's face doesn't completely light up, stares cautiously over his ex professor's shoulder, "I got you something for your birthday."

Walt nods and looks back right at where Jesse's looking. His living room remains silent. His table's empty, there's no food, no Skyler around.

"Come in."

"You sure Mr–"

"I said come in," Walter steps back and sways his arm around, "Jesse."

There's a brief moment where his synapses don't get any signals and in the next one he's sitting down on the very edge of a small couch, admiring the scent of strange houses and the _this is so Mr. White_  ambiance that he breathes everywhere, while the man sips from a watered down ice-melted rum and leaves it noisily on a lamp table by his side.

"So show me it."

Jesse's eyes go back to his and sees Walter relaxing his back against the couch across him, lowering both his hands between his splayed legs. Jesse shoves him the paper bag and as he speaks, Mr. White rummages through the contents.

"I thought maybe we could do something nice tonight, like," he waves his hand when Walter gestures nicely towards the neck of a bottle, "I brought some red wine and shit. I don't know if you're into that."

"Oh no," he hums. _No._ Jesse raises a thin eyebrow. Walter hums. "You shouldn't have. This is very nice, Jesse."

"Yeah, I bought some chocolate candy, cigars… There's a gift for you," he cups the back of his neck and pulls from the sleeve of his sweater, "it's nothing."

"I'll go to the kitchen." Mr. White stands up.

The voices of an old couple come in from the street calling the woman 'Becky' and complaining about plants, they get further until Jesse notices a car starts, and then silence is left all around again. He takes the chance to bring out the black gift box and leave it out of the bag before Walter comes back, carrying two tall glasses in each hand.

 

He has a half-smirk craved into his mouth by the time he's laying the paper bag on the end table along his empty glass, a couple of chocolate wrappings, and slides a Cohiba Lancero from the box, holding it between two rough thick fingers. He leans in and approaches Jesse, still sitting, bending forwards, and places the cigar gently between his cocoa sweetened lips. He holds very still while Mr. White cuts a slice of its head.

"These are strong, excellent brand. They bring them straight from Vuelta Abajo in Cuba, beautiful place for tobacco. I didn't know you were a cigar-man."

Jesse swallows and hums, unwinds "I don't just smoke pot, yo. Gotta have some class while cooking meth, right?"

Walter smiles and shakes his head, standing up to light the thing and throw the cap, and stays there smiling clumsily instead of sitting down, too caught up in Jesse's expression while puffing a huge ball of smoke.

"What? Man, it's just a cigar, it's no big deal."

Walter brings the back of his fingers to his own mouth, suppressing a fond grin. He's not sure if it's the alcohol or the fact that it's his birthday or that Jesse's celebrating something for him, but he just does. He'd ruffle Jesse's hair if he had any streaks. Instead, he runs his short nails through his forehead and scalp lolling the boy's head, pressing his fingerprints to a burgundy bruise formed on his temple.

"You hurt yourself."

"Yeah."

He runs his calloused thumb across Jesse's wrinkled cheekbone and refrains, watching Jesse's pink tongue cover his chapped lower lip, white teeth catching it between and gnawing, his thin fingers removing the cigar from his mouth, waiting for Mr. White to say something else, and he _does_.

"Never thought what a pretty boy you'd make after the high school years, Jesse," he says, rather an outspoken drunken old thought more than a compliment.

A curious strawberry shade lights up Pinkman's cheek and his Adam's apple bobs up and down, electric green eyes piercing White's rough skin, affection written all over the circles his thumb draws across Jesse's face, stopping only when he reaches his jaw.

He presses the rest of his fingers lightly on the back of his ear and doesn't have to pull from him; he simply flows towards the ex professor, frowning, standing up close and barely hovering his lips over Mr. White cracked ones. He softly blows the last light swirls of smoke; Mr. White slightly opens his lips catching some like he's sucking Jesse in, and the boy smiles ever so easily, so _teasing_.

"So you saw the gift box, right? Did you like it?"

Walter twists his lips and furrows his brow, shakes his head indifferent to whatever Jesse's talking about. "Do I need to?"

"Thought you'd want to, I mean, it's your _birthday_ gift." Walter tries to bite at Jesse's lower lip with his small, yellowish teeth and the boy steps back hastily. "Go open it."

"I don't want _it_ -" Heisenberg glares at him, steps forwards and grabs at Jesse's arms, pulling up his sleeves and so the cigar falls to the floor and rolls somewhere else, but not between them. "I don't need it," he grips his skinny hips and _god_ , is he careless that he just _is_ this thin by now, rolls their waists together, "Jesse, I want _you_."

The boy backs off with a groan and scolds Mr. White. "There's a fucking condom in the box, you were supposed to find it. Isn't it hard to always be ten steps already ahead? Is that what you want? To send a fucking message of… Having control of every simple situation, even _this_ " he points at Walter and then at himself.

Walt stares for long and starts laughing like he's running out of air for his lungs until the sound comes out ragged, breathless. "Come here," he presses a hand to Jesse's shoulder, pulling but keeping him steady, protecting him from the frown that's painting his liquid blue eyes dark. Walter hugs him and holds tight, resting his stubbled cheek on Jesse's soft skin when he does so.

"Jesse," the taller man whispers into his ear, drawling, "the gift you brought here tonight is standing exactly before me." He feels Jesse tense up and flinch, his bottom lip falling, his timid arms achieving weak attempts of hugging back. Walter tilts his head to look him in the eyes, perceive the arousal in the way his tongue damps his chapped lip and gets caught between his teeth again. "And regarding to what you want me to do… I really look forwards _unwrapping_ it."

After that, Jesse can't stay quiet. He pulls from the bottom of his sweater, the hole for his head stuck in the mess of his quick movements and the cloth, and he feels Mr. White fingers lift his clothing embracing one of his bare hips, the coldness of his golden ring stinging Jesse's skin.

Mr. White gazes at his pale naked chest –not for the first time this way,– and takes the pale skin there, his cold-hardened nipples, the jutting collarbones, the valleys of his ribs, delighted, amazed by _Jesse_ who's rather starting to doubt if this is all truly going to happen. Walter shakes his head, and his stare meets Jesse's face again. He grits his teeth and grabs Jesse's thighs making their pelvis grind, smacks a first clumsy, then deep, damp, hot and fast kiss onto his lips.

So many things caught there. So much of aggression, gratitude, _guilt_ pressed into a slow smooch to check how the other's going. It doesn't last, because Walter's hands are pushing his pants down and leaving Jesse only in his loose boxers and shoving him into the lamp table, knocking the almost empty glass of wine and telling Jesse to bend over while the boy listens to the sound of a heavy belt unbuckling behind him.

There are some things Mr. White skips like, calming him down or, make him face other way than straight into the shelf of family pictures while adding pressure to his asshole with two blunt fingers but, Jesse moans, and gets busy being genuinely pissed off at the unopened black box with the condom and the gift inside. He tries to reach out for it before Mr. White pulls back from his waist and his buttcheeks meet the plump, engorged shape of his dick and _God_ , can any of this get him any more hard than he just _is_?

His eyelids fall heavy and his mouth opens when Walter dully rubs onto his crack back and forth, not even in, and he doesn't even hiss or bats an eye over his shoulder -his back's arched as fuck, so that wouldn't be hard.- when Walter glides inside him like spit is some kind of magic lube. Like Walter actually believes he can go as far as however he likes, because it doesn't hurt _at all_.

He shouts for him to slow down. 

He pleads, straightens enough to feel Mr. White's shirt's buttons dig into his bare back, scratches the lamp table with his own nails, gasps for air and all he gets back is a rough thrust and a lazy hand around his dick that squeezes him until he sighs.

Maybe it's too late when he realizes that this is not what he wants. That the breaking in pain is way too much to handle, and Walter embraces him while he trembles and listens to the low hum, the raspy voice that tells him that he's doing _great_ , that _this they've got_  is _amazing_ , and _oh, God, Jesse_ , you're _tight_.

"Mr. White, stop" he whines, " _fuck_ " a moan slips, followed by a sob, " _please_."

"Relax. It gets better, Jesse," Walter's voice is a vague echo of thunders and a mess inside his head, but he holds Jesse still and that's the only thing he cares about. He buries himself deeper inside and keeps smacking his body against Jesse's back, eventually ramming into the lamp table so hard the lightbulb shakes and the so called gift in the black box falls to the ground, making a rattle. Jesse widens his eyes and murmurs 'no' under his breath, bending over the edge to see the box open and one of the axis broken. He falls onto the table and his cheeks sticks to the wood, and finally closes his eyes while Walter lowers himself so he can speak into his ear. "I promise. I promise it's going to feel good, alright?"

 

"I'm going to make you feel good, it's all okay, Jesse."

 

"Jesse?"

Jesse parts his lips. He nods. Mr. White does it again, and his whole body spasms in pleasure, fresh tears still in his eyes; he finds that spot in him he's felt other times -not with dudes. Not with Mr. White. Not with himself- and bites his tongue going all for it, fucking himself on Walter's cock for the first time and throwing a sharp groan while Walter's hands hold his head in place.

"God, _Jesse_ ," a spark of proudness sets him on fire to hear Mr. White whine his name, he swallows the drool that menaces from staining the wood of the lamp table and gently pushes onto Mr. White's lap, all hot and breaking in sweat, making the older man slightly tremble and breathe in short sharp gasps. Jesse feels the hand on his head rub its way through his neck and towards the slick curve of his back's bottom, Walter takes control of him again and murmurs "you're _special_ ," while a rough raw thrust make Jesse's eyes roll back. He lowers himself, resting his belly on this boy's back, nibbles his earlobe and enjoys the wrinkles that form around Jesse's eyes. "You're mine," he licks his own drool. And means that.

 

He doesn't last too much time. He cums under the eyes and in the hands of Heisenberg, and falls exhausted and dirty onto the nearest couch, while his fingers run through the extremely short hair that reflects Walter's living room's poor light.

Jesse sniffles and takes a thin cigarette from the pocket of his open jeans, way too focused and lost in the black screen of the turned off TV. Through it, he sees Mr. White coming back with a bunch of table napkins cleaning himself. He scoffs and looks away, fidgeting with the fabric of his sweater before putting it back on.

In the middle of the comforting, but awkward haze in which Jesse rests, cradled by the soft sound of Mr. White's belt sliding back to its place and the silence of the night, a baby starts crying. Which makes Jesse nearly jump out of the couch.

"Easy," Walter calls. "I'll take care of her."

"Yo, there's a kid in here?"

"It's my daughter" Walter clasps his hands together and walks away hastily to the bottom of his house, where the baby cries come from. Jesse stands up with wobbly legs and walks around, picking up the glass they threw on the carpet floor and grimacing when he sees the black gifted box on the ground.

It's not there. The condom. It's _not_  there. Jesse huffs relieved and shoots a smile, turning back to the thumps of Walter's steps coming back. But he's holding his kid on his arms, and there's a smile -the one his own father held as he cradled Jake- on his face, and the afterglow effect wears off, and there's nothing but crave afterwards -of hugs, of neck kisses, of lip biting. Something he had with someone that died not long ago. A whole load of new romantic frustration.

"Jesse, meet Holly." He feels nauseous.

"Yeah," he nods and smirks. "Look, I've gotta go, Mr. White."

"Oh. Okay. Jesse, I'm glad you came tonight." Walter shrugs but his eyes follow Jesse's glare as it falls to the floor, not getting it, not getting to laugh and push him away like he's not his professor anymore and they just finished cooking a batch of meth. Not getting why Jesse isn't all over Holly already, tickling her nose, ruffling her hair, making her laugh while pulling funny faces. He never really got what drew Jesse so close to kids, anyways.

"G'bye, Mr. White."

"See you tomorrow."

He slams the door, and Walt sneaks the box from the ground, taking a look at the watch. The so called condom's under the lamp table once he looks for it, must have flown there when the box fell -he explains to himself- and picks it up to throw it in the trash can. No. Better leave it on Junior's night table.

 

He stops by the convenience store around 2am to get diapers, thinking maybe Skyler would be home by then, and takes Holly in his arms so he doesn't leave her alone in his car. He doesn't like to.

He stops before entering and stares for a while, because there's a picture of a bruised Jesse on the floor and a warning sign that he shouldn't even think twice about coming inside. Mr. White pulls off the sign and folds the picture, keeping it in one of the pockets of his khakis, smiling like he's proud.

 

 


End file.
